Barefoot in Hyde Park (The Hellion Club Book 2)

by Chasity Bowlin

  Elsworth rose then and strode from the room. A moment later, Val heard the front door slam and knew that his cousin was gone. Not just from the house, though. Any hint of the boy Elsworth had once been was gone, as well. All that remained was a bitter, jealous shell of a man. Resentment had ruined him. Envy, the insidious poison of a covetous heart, would see their family ripped asunder in a way they could not recover from. All that was left was to tell the powers that be and allow them to take him into custody with Marchebanks. Perhaps then one of them would talk and spill the remainder of the information needed to prevent disaster.

  Chapter Twenty

  Hours later, wearing a coat and hat hastily borrowed from one of the footmen, Val huddled outside a crumbling warehouse near the docks. With the hat pulled low, his face was concealed from any passersby. There was enough mud and muck splashed on his boots to hide their quality and he was rendered all but invisible. To any passerby, he appeared just another drunk in the rookery, lounging against the side of a building and tippling from a bottle of cheap gin. He’d allowed Elsworth to get a head start, but only by a few minutes. He’d followed his cousin from the shadows, staying on him until he’d reached his destination. The very same warehouse Val now huddled outside of.

  It was a dangerous place. The warehouse was situated on the docks and getting there through the rookeries, he’d risked life, limb and purse. Somehow, he’d made it through without being robbed or killed just for the buttons on his waistcoat. Sadly, men had been killed for less. That Elsworth could walk through those neighborhoods unaccosted meant that he was a familiar sight there. Or a protected one. Was there some other shady underworld figure who wielded power comparable to the Hound? Or was the Hound himself not to be trusted?

  Val dismissed that notion almost instantly. The Hound of Whitehall was guilty of many things, including a bit of smuggling and thumbing his nose at the Crown. But he’d proven time and time again that he supported the soldiers. Many nefarious plots and schemes that would have compromised national security had come to their attention through him. He’d gone so far as to summon Val to his tables when he knew key players in such intrigues would be present.

  Cursing under his breath, Val waited. The temperatures were dropping. It was growing colder by the minute. But he couldn’t leave until he had something more to work with. He might not be close enough to hear what was being said inside, but he was near enough that he could watch the comings and goings. He’d seen Marchebanks enter. To pass the time and to blend more with his surroundings while convincingly passing for a just a random drunkard, he stood with his arms folded over his chest, softly whistling a rather dirty tune he’d picked up from a gaming hell years before.

  As another carriage rolled up, he pulled his hat lower, making certain his face was concealed, and watched the vehicle closely. The door opened and, to his dismay, it wasn’t a man who climbed out but a woman. Her face was concealed within the hood of a velvet cloak, but the sweep of her scarlet skirts over the filthy street was oddly familiar to him. Where had he seen her? She moved with an uncommon grace that tugged at his memory. He’d seen her before, whether at one of the hells or in a Mayfair ballroom, he couldn’t say. Focusing his attention on the man accompanying her, Val noted that he, too, kept his face hidden behind a heavy cloak, but he was massive. The man stood a head and a half taller than the woman did with broad shoulders and a rough build that hinted at manual labor or perhaps the streets.

  As they vanished into the warehouse, Val left his post and slipped down the alley. Carefully, he stacked crates until he could reach a small ledge that ran along the outside of the building. Praying it would support his weight, he reached for it and pulled, testing its sturdiness. When it didn’t simply snap off in his hand, he pulled himself up and managed to perch atop it. Inching to his right, toward a window, he peered into the building. It was dimly lit and, through the grime, he could just make out the trio of players and the lady’s massive guard standing in the center of the large and utterly empty space.

  She had not lowered her hood, which meant she was either very cautious about being seen or that even her compatriots didn’t know her identity. Val was leaning toward the latter. He shifted slightly, trying to get a better view. The ledge creaked ominously under him and all those inside turned in the direction of the sound. With the darkness outside and the light in, not to mention the filth of the window, he didn’t worry that they’d seen him. But he did worry they might send the behemoth to investigate. Dropping back down onto the boxes, he left quickly, exiting the alley from the other end and emerging into a dirty street pocked with ruts and dotted with piles of excrement whose origins were best left unidentified. He shuffled away, singing softly under his breath and altering his gait as to appear old and stooped. A few minutes later, the behemoth moved past him, scanning the street ahead. Val just kept up his pretense, head down, swaying from side to side, appearing to be a drunken sot for all the world.

  Stumbling toward one of the many prostitutes working that stretch of road, he pressed a coin to her hand. “Be a love and try to distract that big fellow, would you?”

  “Lud, I don’t want a brute like that,” she said in shockingly genteel tones.

  “I don’t wish for you to actually entertain him,” Val said, shocked to find the prostitute in question sounded more like a society matron. “I just need to slip past him.”

  “Before he realizes you’re a young lord and not a drunkard from the streets?” she asked.

  “Just so,” he said.

  She glanced down at the coin. “It’ll take more than one of these. I’ll not entangle myself in your intrigues for so little.”

  Val grinned. “Be at the corner of Jermyn Street and Duke Street tomorrow morning at ten. You’ll get more than a coin. You’ll get a job.”

  An expression of distrust crossed her face. “What sort of employment might that be, my lord? Whatever you think of my current circumstances, I assure you that you have thoroughly misread the situation.”

  Perhaps he had, Val thought. She was dressed in a manner that was far more circumspect than any woman of the streets he’d ever seen. But that raised other questions. Why was she out there? Was she involved in something nefarious? Was it perhaps the same nefarious dealings that had brought him out into the rookery at night? “Being a companion… my grandmother needs one,” he offered.

  “Why doesn’t she have one already?”

  “Because I married the last one,” he answered. “And I’d like to return to my lovely new bride without that brute running me through.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, the woman gave a curt nod. She slipped the coin into a hidden pocket in her skirt and then sauntered past him toward the larger man. In a rougher and more cockney tone, she said, “My, but you’re a big one. Looking for a tumble, are you, ’ansome?”

  “No,” the man replied.

  Val slipped into another alley and made his way to the next street over. Deeper and deeper into the rookeries he went until, over the tops of the buildings, he could finally see the spires of Whitehall in the distance. He let them guide him home.

  *

  Lilly was having dinner with the dowager duchess. Neither Elsworth nor Val had shown their faces since the afternoon. It was worrisome to say the least. Where one was, the other had likely followed and that could only lead to danger.

  “I have never known more inconsiderate men in my life, Lillian,” the dowager duchess said. “Except perhaps for Valentine’s father… and my late husband. All the Somers men are bad. It’s in their blood.”

  “Val never speaks of his father,” Lilly said, hoping to direct the conversation.

  “I should say not,” the dowager duchess replied. “He hardly knows him. I daresay that is true for all of us. Richard, my son, decided to live a life of adventure!” This was uttered with the gravest of contempt, as if it were a deeply personal affront to her and all that she valued. But then again, perhaps it was. “He fancies himself some sort
of scholar! Living in huts and tents and cavorting with natives like some sort of buffoon!”

  “Well, that is fascinating! Where has he traveled to?” Lilly asked. It wasn’t fascinating, not at all. But if it kept the woman from speculating on what Val and Elsworth might be doing and why they might both be absent at the same time, it was well worth it.

  “Oh, it is not! It’s rude and inconsiderate. As for where he’s gone, I honestly couldn’t say. It’s not here or anywhere civilized and that’s all that matters!”

  “I’m certain there is a great deal to be learned from other cultures,” Lilly offered placatingly.

  “Certainly, there is! But did he have to be the one to learn it? No. Of course not! It was one thing for you to have a position, my dear, when you had no one else to see to your future and your needs. But Richard is a duke! He has responsibilities. He should be seeing to his estates and leaving it to someone else to unearth dusty relics from ancient civilizations. Honestly, I find it difficult to picture him digging in the dirt. He’s likely paid someone to do so and is overseeing them. If he can do that in India or China, or wherever it is he’s gallivanted off to this time, he can do it in Somerset and see to planting some wheat or other crops on our estates.”

  While Lilly would never dream of saying so, the dowager duchess was really terribly practical. Almost to the point of appearing bourgeois. It would not endear her to anyone for her to say so. “It is very frustrating to deal with impractical people,” Lilly commiserated mildly.

  “It is!” the dowager duchess agreed and sipped her wine. “It is my hope, my dear, that your experience and your own practical nature will have a stabilizing influence on Valentine.”

  Her practical nature was debatable. Mercenary perhaps, with her love of jewels and rich fabrics. Lilly’s gaze dropped to the heavy ring on her left hand. She was still adjusting to the weight of it. The band was etched with a design of intertwining vines and was topped with a large emerald flanked by pearls and diamonds. It was beautiful but the significance of the ring and what it represented in terms of her status was far more staggering than its monetary value.

  “Do you have regrets, my dear?”

  Lilly looked up to see the dowager duchess eyeing her with concern. “No, of course not. Why would you think that?”

  The older woman looked away. “I did rather manage the both of you into this debacle. There is something I have to confess…”

  “And what is that?” Lilly asked, wondering if she truly wanted the answer.

  “The bequest that came from your great-aunt… well, it didn’t really originate with her. It was genuine and would have been yours regardless of whom you married. But I needed you to be in a position where you would feel compelled to say yes when my grandson asked you.”

  Lilly placed her wine glass carefully on the table. “I see. And you were certain that he would ask me?”

  The dowager duchess shrugged. “Well, it’s no secret that you are stunning. I had only to take one look at you and know he would be smitten.”

  “I thought—” Lilly broke off, not certain how to express her thoughts or even if she should.

  “Do not be missish. If you have something to say to me, you should say it,” the dowager duchess stated.

  Anger bubbled inside her. “I have lived my whole life believing that no one cared for me at all… except for my half-sister and Effie. This bequest from my great-aunt made it appear otherwise. That perhaps my mother’s family had just been unable to locate me. And that had they been able to, they might have actually wanted to form a bond with me. But that was all a lie. You’ve managed us all into the positions you wanted us to be in. And I’m right back to where I started, with no one to care for me at all except my half-sister and Effie. You gave me a family and then you took it away.”

  “It was only money, my dear,” the dowager duchess said.

  “No, it wasn’t. It was an overture of goodwill from people who truly don’t care if I live or die and never have. It was a lie cemented with contracts and conditions so that I’d do what you wanted,” Lilly replied. “I fear I’ve lost my appetite. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going upstairs.”

  As she rose and fled the room, she could hear the dowager duchess calling her name. But she didn’t turn around. She couldn’t. After all those years of being alone, she’d thought she had, if not a relationship with her family, then at least some sense of connection to them. And it had been nothing but a whim, a fabrication from an old woman with more money than heart, it seemed.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Val entered the house and found it abnormally quiet. It was the dinner hour and he could see light spilling from the dining room, but there was no sound at all. Approaching the room cautiously, he opened the door and found his grandmother seated alone at the table. The usual bevy of footmen were stationed there, all of them to serve one lone, old woman as she stared at her dessert as if it might bite her.

  “Where is Lillian?” he asked, stepping into the room.

  “You are not dressed for dinner,” his grandmother admonished immediately.

  “As I am not having dinner it hardly signifies. Where is my wife?” he demanded. The unshakable feeling that something dreadful had occurred would not leave him. He could see it in the defeated set of his grandmother’s shoulders, in the way that she would not quite meet his gaze.

  “A better question might be where have you been, out carousing when you’ve been married less than a handful days!” his grandmother retorted. “She was not hungry and retired early.”

  “I was out. I had business to tend to. I want to know what happened here,” Val insisted. He could tell from the pallor of his grandmother’s face, from the slight trembling of her hand that she was upset about something.

  “Gaming,” she said, and her expression was disapproving, but there was a slight tremor in her lip that gave away her emotional state.

  Val knew he’d have to tell her something. He couldn’t simply let Elsworth’s crimes blindside her. Glancing up at the servants, he said, “Leave us. All of you. You may clear everything away later.”

  When they had all gone, his grandmother turned to him. “Was that really necessary? Surely letting them witness my scolding at your hands would only add to my punishment,” she snapped.

  “I’m not punishing you,” he said. The oddity of that statement struck him then. “Wait… why would I punish you?”

  The Dowager Duchess of Templeton did something he had never seen her do before in all of his life. Her lower lip trembled again, more violently than before, and then a single tear rolled down her cheek.

  “I’m afraid my managing and plotting, all my manipulations have caught up with me. She hates me now. And with every right. She’ll take you away and I’ll never see my great-grandchildren… assuming I survive until they are born.”

  Val sat and leaned back in his chair. Whatever had occurred had been between his grandmother and Lillian, not between Lillian and Elsworth. That, at least, offered some relief. Hurt feelings could be mended. He wasn’t certain that his cousin’s ultimate aims were so benign. “She doesn’t hate you. I’m certain it’s only a misunderstanding.”

  “It isn’t. It’s so much worse than that. I told her what I did… I didn’t realize it would hurt her so terribly. It was foolish of me to do it and even more foolish of me to confess it!” she cried, wringing her hands in clear distress.

  Now he was beginning to worry. “Let’s just clear some things up first. What is it that you did?”

  “I did some research after I hired the girl… I discovered the name of Lillian’s mother and then I contacted her great-aunt, a woman who I had been acquainted with in the past. They’re terrible people, really. Cold, crass, calculating! But under the circumstances, I required their, well, assistance.”

  “Go on,” Val said, a sinking feeling settling into his gut.

  “I explained the situation and stated that I wished to arrange a small marriage portion for her,
as sort of a bequest from the living, but that she would likely not accept it from me and asked if I could so under her name as she was the girl’s great-aunt after all. They had suffered a reversal of fortune and were struggling. So, in exchange, I also gave them a bit of money to ease the way so to speak and it secured her agreement. So I set up a meeting with her solicitor and we covered all the particulars.” By the end, all of the words were tumbling out at once, and his grandmother was openly weeping. She’d not done so even at the death of his grandfather.

  Val recalled the conversation with Lilly from the park. That bequest had been more than simply money to her, more than the promise of financial security. For her, it had been an overture of acceptance, an acknowledgement of her as a member of their family. “The solicitor told Lillian that her great-aunt was sick and likely would not even survive for her to go and visit. Is that true?”

  “No,” his grandmother said. “She was quite hale and hearty, actually. That bit of fiction was created by Mr. Littleton, I suppose, or perhaps at her great-aunt’s request to prevent scandal and to prevent their actually having to meet as—well, they would never have agreed to any sort of acknowledgement of her had it not been for the money. They really are terrible!”

  “Well, for heaven’s sake, don’t confess that to her, as well. She’s been hurt enough by those people… and by your meddling,” Val stated.

  “I know it was terrible… I only wanted to ensure that she would have appropriate inducement to accept the offer I knew you would make. From the very moment that girl stepped into my drawing room, I knew that you would suit. And I knew that you would not be able to resist her. You’re quite transparent, you know!” she said accusingly.